


Arguments over Adoration

by Nadyeahh



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, First Times, Fluff, Love, Meeting, Romance, Veela, first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:38:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadyeahh/pseuds/Nadyeahh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fleurs' grown with a destiny that she finds hard to bear. It's in her blood. And written in her book. Yet maybe if she looks past her fate, she could find something that could help her hold it. Companionship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arguments over Adoration

She is beautiful. 

_"You'll only become more and more beautiful with time, ma' cherie. It's in your blood. Our blood"_

The crooning of her grandmother's voice echoes in her mind. It reminds her of what she is. What it means to be a Delacour. She has been born to be beautiful. She is destined to outshine all others. 

Or at least that's what she has always been led to believe. 

Her classmates have never appealed to her. They have always seemed too mundane; ordinary and plain doe-eyed girls, hardly worth involving herself with. The few men she has happened to come across on her vacations don't even warrant a second glance. Aesthetic appeal is unobserved in either sex. No-one ever grabs her attention,or incites any passion within her either. Though she has searched, she has never come across a rival in beauty; not one that wasn't related to her at least. 

Her little sister is beautiful. Just as she is. Together they draw the gazes of many. In the early days she had reveled in the attention, basking in the admiration of others, each new person further re-affirming her definition of herself. And yet... These days,through closer scrutiny, the lustful dazed looks in the eyes of her eager audience are more noticeable, and they cause her to shiver in disgust. 

But she is a Delacour. She is destined to shine. She cannot blend into the background seamlessly like those plain doe-eyed girls. A part of her hopes it will be different, when she steps off the carriage and onto the grounds of Hogwarts. Perhaps the people here will not be so affected by her thrall. Perhaps things will be better. 

But her destiny follows her,like a curse now and soon enough her fears are confirmed. Their eyes will not fall from her. Their eyes are drawn to her like blowflies to a rotting carcass. She does not revel in their attention, and instead tries to shy away from them. But she cannot escape them. Even now, the ginger at this table won't lower his gaze, and she can feel herself growing more and more frustrated at the vacant look in his eyes as he surveys her. 

The bushy-haired girl to his right has the decency to glare at him for her, before offering her the fish stew she had asked for. Fleur, touched by the gesture, chooses to grace this girl with a small genuine smile, momentarily forgetting her thrall. Yet Hermione, that's what she had heard them call her, seems unperturbed by her presence, and instead smiles back, no trace of emptiness in her eyes. 

She returns to her seat, and yet her thoughts do not return to the idle gossip she had been discussing moments ago with her classmates. Instead they turn to Hermione, the teenage witch, with the imperfect teeth, which she had so proudly displayed in her smile. Why on earth was she thinking about her? 

She dismisses it. It's just a lingering thought, after all. She's nothing to dwell on. 

She needs to research for the upcoming task. That's what she tells herself as she makes her way to the library. It is merely by chance that she eavesdrops on the conversation a few of the girls have near the door, about Victor Krum taking an interest in a bushy-haired nobody. 

It's just by coincidence that she seats herself next to the girl. The books she needs are in this section. The silence is almost palpable, punctured only by the scratching of quills. Fleur finds herself studying the girl, memorising the way her lips curve into a small smile, the way her hand holds her quill, and committing the very essence of her to memory. She opens her mouth, but closes it abruptly, unwilling to break the spell that the witch seems to have cast on her.

_I think I was blind before I met you._


End file.
